Magic Man
by Mobius Shadow
Summary: Rincewind gets hold of some magic armor that turns him into Magic Man- Discworld's first superhero. And every hero need sidekicks, so I have reintroduced Eric & Pretty Butterfly. E & PB?...Perhaps.... *Ch. 8 UP, IT'S BACK!*
1. A Hero is Fabricated

The construction crew toiled away at the bottom of the hole. They were clothed in Leadrobium[1] suits, which were supposed to shield them from the frighteningly high magic levels of the Unreal Estates. Located next to Unseen University, Unreal Estates were where all the books, spells, implements and instruments of magic were sent when they were deemed useless or had never worked to begin with. The construction crew was here to bury two volumes of magic that had nearly killed the Librarian, a defective wand, and a self-activating spell that the Alchemist's Guild had created to turn copper into gold but in fact turned anything with proximity into Quirm Cheese. They finished at last and gently lowered the crate into the hole, surrounding into with sawhorses to keep people out. They then got as far away from the hole as possible, running as fast as someone can in Leadrobium. They didn't seem to care when the sawhorses started to walk away. The workday was done; they would fill the hole in tomorrow.  
  
About five minutes later, a figure came rushing through the evening sunset. He was running. Behind him came a strange looking chest with many tiny legs on the bottom, following him closely. They were being pursued by a small horde of people waving- well, Rincewind wasn't sure what they were waving; he'd left too soon to find out. He darted into the nearest ally. They rushed by, as angry crowds always do, and Rincewind kept running down the ally. He tripped and fell over something wooden. He looked down, and saw it was a living sawhorse, flashing its safety light in a threatening manner.  
  
He scuttled backwards- right into a giant hole. Above, he heard a snapping noise as the Luggage tore the sawhorse to pieces.  
  
"Oy, let's gettim!" came from the distance. That would be the mob. Rincewind looked around for something to cover himself with. The hole was full of old books that were decomposing and shedding a soft octarine glow as they went. In one corner, he saw the glint of- Yes, it was a helmet! And some gauntlets, gloves, boots, and a chest plate. These should disguise him nicely. He put them on and scuttled up out of the hole. Crowds never go for someone cool and collected. There was a stomping noise, and the crowd was back in the ally. Rincewind tried to look surprised. The helmet had a long skinny visor. It was flickering images at him. Numbers and geometric symbols flickered on and off.  
  
"Oh, gods. This is magic armor."  
  
"Hey! You in the bucket! You see a guy run through here? He had these long flowing robes like yours, and had this big chest running around withim', and. . . Get that imposter!"  
  
The crowd rushed foreword at Rincewind, who cowered. Suddenly, the visor gave a blinding flash of light. And then the numbers flickered back and stayed there. There were words, too, and a set of crosshairs settled on the nearest attacker. The helmet wrote ADVERSARY- ATTACK NOW. Rincewind raised his hands in surrender, but halfway there they froze, pointed out at the lead mobster. The gloves began to glow. Rincewind made a flicking motion with his fingers.  
  
"What the he-" started the lead mobster before a ball of light fantastic hit him.  
  
Rincewind looked down at his hands in amazement. He had done magic! He turned to the next thug and waved his hands. A long piece of rope shot out of his wrist and some more octarine flew away from his palm like a fireworks display. The mob members screamed and ran. Rincewind stopped firing and looked at his hands. What had he done?  
  
----------------------- [1] Made by blasting lead with frighteningly large amounts of magic 


	2. Trouble Rears its Sallow Head

After writing the first chapter, I stepped back and looked at it with horror. I could not think what had possessed me to write something so far below my standards. The idea was good, but underdeveloped, and I had no villain. I planned to remove it, unless I got a review. I did, and they gave me a foothold, and I'm back. I cleaned up my horrible grammar, and I basically took all the ideas thrust my way. Strangely, Manx's insane Professor Zaxton idea fit nicely in with Bob the Insane's robot. So here goes Ch. 2:  
  
* * *  
  
"Okay, and finally, what would you do if a student spilled a chemical onto the floor?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
Munstrum Ridcully broke into an ear-to-ear grin.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Zaxton; you're our new Magical Implements teacher."  
  
The sallow man on the other side of the table returned Ridcully's grin somewhat less forcefully.  
  
"I am sure I can enrich this school somehow. When do I start?"  
  
"Tomorrow at noon."  
  
* * *  
  
Up on the highest mountain on the Disc, Om nudged Offler awake. The other gods were all off at the Ice Giants, who had the music up too loud, and Om and Offler had gotten Disc duty.  
  
"Look at that!"  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"Look, the magic armor of Ankh-Morpork has been rediscovered."  
  
"Really? Well, we muft tell the other godf!"  
  
"Let's not. I want to see this and make them jealous. I'm sure it will be interesting."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Om and Offler sat down and looked down at the Disc.  
  
* * *  
  
The standard slow, almost lugubrious Discworld sunrise ended simultaneously with the lunch break at Unseen University, and the Students were ushered into their classrooms. One particularly unlucky bunch was greeted by a smiling face on a head that looked like a wax apple left too long in the sun.  
  
"Hello, students, I am Professor Zaxton. I am your new Magical Implements teacher. You all know about the most basic items, as, my schedule informs me, you are the second year class. So, I thought we would start with an interesting item- the Golem. As you all know, Golems are controlled by pieces of paper in their heads called Chems. The Chem basically tells the Golem how to operate. Now, who here has ever worked with a Golem?  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Twoflower hummed as he walked- which was making his daughters irritable.  
  
"Do you have to do that, father?" asked the older of the two, Butterfly.  
  
"I'm sorry dear, I'm just so happy I found time to come see my good friend  
  
Rincewind. And we're almost to Ankh-Morpork."  
  
"I'm sure he will be very happy to see you," said his younger daughter, Lotus Blossom.  
  
Yeah, I bet, thought Butterfly.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The day was ending, and as the wizards congregated to their dinner, one raced  
  
through the corridors in the basement of Unseen. He was pushing a hand truck that was nearly snapping under the weight of the thing on it. It had been draped with a shroud, which flapped up from time to time, and the pusher constantly had to recover exposed parts of it. He rushed deeper and deeper down, finally arriving in a large chamber, filled completely with what appeared to be miscellaneous junk.  
  
"So, you're the famous Hex," Said the pusher, coming to a halt.  
  
+++ Yes +++  
  
"You can devise spells, correct?"  
  
+++ I can pull them up from the depths of probability. I take it you want one+++  
  
"Yes. I have here a golem. I want you to write me a Chem that will allow me to control it remotely with a suit of armor for which I would like you to draw blueprints. You can do it?"  
  
+++ Yes +++  
  
"Begin, then."  
  
* * *  
  
Well, send reviews, and the next chapter will appear far too soon for your liking. Suggestions appreciated!  
  
The Shadow 


	3. Kaputski

So much for 'Far too soon for your liking.' But the server failure gave me time to work, so here is Chapter 3: * * *  
  
Rincewind sat down in the library, and, making sure no one was there, pulled the armor out of the bag he had kept it in. He examined the gloves first. They appeared normal enough, except for that hole in the wrist that shot rope. He put on and curved his hand back slowly. A piece of rope shot out and wrapped itself around a ladder used for reaching the higher books. Well, at least he had gotten used to that. He wiggled his fingers, and rays of light fantastic shot out the end. So far so good. He put the glove back in the bag and pulled out a boot. They looked normal enough, too, with the exception of small circular indentation on the heel. Rincewind picked up the glove again, and noticed a ring on one finger. He put it on and willed it to do something. It shot out a ball of purple light, which suddenly assumed the form of a sandwich. Rincewind, who had been absentmindedly thinking of lunch, stared at it in astonishment. He tried a bowl of soup, a book, and a crossbow, which shot an effervescent arrow into a bookcase. Rincewind took the glove off and stuffed it back in the bag. The Luggage, uncaring of the affairs of Men, obediently got up and followed Rincewind out the door. Rincewind knew what he had to do. He was going to sell the armor and be done with it. * * *  
  
There was a binging noise. Zaxton put down his copy of the Times and looked expectantly at Hex, which was sketching out blueprints, followed by a piece of paper with an incantation on it. Zaxton looked both over critically and then smiled "Excellent," he said, and walked hurriedly out of the room, pushing the golem along in front of him. He wanted to catch the seventh dinner course. * * *  
  
Twoflower and his daughters came to a stop in front of an inn on the outskirts of Ankh-Morpork. "We'll sleep here tonight," explained Twoflower, " and tomorrow we'll find Rincewind." * * *  
  
Rincewind was still, technically, a student wiz(z)ard, and decided to see if his dorm room was still empty before he left in the morning. He walked into the main building and eventually found it. He put his ear to the door. There were voices, and he turned to leave, but their heartfelt conversation caught his attention. "This Professor Zaxton guy creeps me out." "Yeah, me too. He looks like he drinks alum to start the day." "And his weird ideas about Magical Implements. I tell you this guy isn't all there." Rincewind pulled his ear away from the door and thought. He had never much liked Magical Implements class. True, Magical Implements were the only magical items he could operate, but they still scared him. And no one was called Professor- it hadn't been used for years! Rincewind went back to the library, steeped in thought. * * *  
  
Across Ankh-Morpork, a buggy was pulling into the city. It held three occupants, and one of them was complaining. "Mom, why do we have to do this? I was almost certain I could call up a spirit right this time!" "Eric, we have been through this before. Your father's business meeting is in Ankh-Morpork, and we have to go with him." "Uh-Huh," said the third figure, which was busily re-reading the speech he had made for the meeting. The buggy rumbled off into the city. Eric sighed. Life was like that- nothing was fair. He had learned that, if nothing else, from Rincewind. * * *  
  
The next day dawned bright and clear, over a period of several hours. The first people on the streets- related to us, of course; some people never leave the streets- were Twoflower and his increasingly rebellious daughters. "Come on, father, we need breakfast!" "But Rincewind is probably up and about making the world a better place already!" They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a teenage boy whose face looked not unlike the surface of the Moon. "Oh, sorry about that sir," he said, and made to leave. "Excuse me," said Twoflower to Eric's retreating back, " We were looking for a nice man named Rincewind- do you know where he lives, by chance?" Eric turned around suddenly, and- seemingly in compensation- stared at them for several seconds with a slew of emotions vying for facial expression before choking out "Rincewind lives HERE!?" "Why yes." "I always knew this was a City of Sin, but you mean actual demons live in Ankh-Morpork!?" Twoflower became stern. "Now see here, Rincewind is a good friend of mine. You are NOT to go calling him a demon, you hear! He's a wizard, and a good one!" Eric's face collapsed into complete anarchy at this point. "So what he told me WAS true- he's not a demon!" Eric now looked embarrassed. "What on the Disc would have made you think that?" Eric thought for a moment, and then his eye caught on Butterfly. She was about his age, and he suddenly realized she was probably the prettiest thing he had ever seen in person. She would be horrified to hear he had called up Rincewind instead of a Succubus or a gift-bestowing demon[1]. He viewed a mental picture of himself and realized that she probably already was horrified. He decided to avoid the actual story and add a layer of pearl to the grain of grit by shrouding it in mystery. "It's a long and complicated story. We were both nearly killed several times, and I'd rather not talk about it. Come on, we can look for him together." If nothing else, Eric was glad he had not stayed in the hotel room. * * *  
  
"Dere you go- dat'll be thirty dollars." Zaxton took the gloves, boots and helmet from the troll and pressed the money into his hand. He walked out of the black smith's smiling an evil grin. As soon as he had the golem outfitted with some devices of his own design, Ankh-Morpork was going to either cooperate or fall. The decision was Vetinari's * * *  
  
"Get your sausages! Get your breakfast sausages inna bun! Get 'em while they're hot!" That would have to have been when they were still part of whatever animal Dibbler had culled them from, and, as most of the Ankh- Morpork population knew that, he wasn't doing too well that morning. Suddenly, a figure, followed by a chest with many tiny legs ran up to him, holding a bag that clinked as he ran. The figure stood there panting for a while and then straightened up. "Morning, Throat!" "Who are you?" "Rincewind. Listen, I have something to sell you." "That's my job, Mr. Wind." "Now, look here." Rincewind pulled out some pieces of the armor. "Listen, I have here some armor that will-" "Are you going to buy a sausage?" "No. Now listen, this-" "Then go away. Get your hot sausage! Get your hot breakfast sausage inna bun!" Rincewind walked away. He was burdened with useless armor that had the ability to make a man a- a- a Super-Hero! And in his hands it was a useful as a life raft in the desert. Rincewind walked away. He was going to abandon this junk in an alley and forget the whole thing. * * *  
  
Back in Unseen University, Professor Zaxton hummed quietly as he affixed the combination sand-blaster/fire launcher to the golem's left hand. He tightened the bolts and moved to the right hand, where he bolted on the crossbow. He put on the helmet and tapped on the golem to see if- yes, the hearing transmission mechanism worked. Plinks clinked in his ears. Perfect. Taking off the helmet, he sat down and briefly looked over the Chem, which, in summary, said: If it moves, sandblast it. If it is not killed or does not run away, shoot warning shots. If it persists or attacks You, go at it with Flames and Arrows. Satisfied, Zaxton opened the top of the golem's head and dropped the Chem inside. "Hello, Psedosoldier. I am Professor Zaxton, your master and creator. Do you understand? "Yes, Professor Zaxton." Zaxton had been forced to give the golem a voice as there was no room for its usual slate board of communication. "Excellent!" cried Zaxton ecstatically, then, to himself, "Whom do I kidnap for bait?" * * *  
  
There you go, the third installment- R&R!  
  
The Shadow  
  
P.S.- Could someone please explain to me why the list of Discworld books inside the front cover has "Eric" as written with Josh Kirby? Did he win a contest or something? Or is he one of Mr. Pratchett's friends? ----------------------- [1] A seductive female demon and most of the Hells' political force, respectively. See "Eric" 


	4. Pseudosoldier Armed & Ready

I laugh in the face of server failures! The fourth installment lives!  
  
* * *  
  
"And this is Unseen University"  
  
Eric manages to look away from Butterfly long enough to look over the mess of random, physics-defying buildings that were Unseen University.  
  
"This is the Tower of Art. It is rumored to be the oldest building on the Disc."  
  
"How do you know all this Mr. Twoflower?"  
  
"Rincewind is a wonderful tour guide. I tell you, he's a great man." * * *  
  
The Disc's Best Tour Guide walked into the back entrance to the library and greeted the librarian.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Ook."  
  
"Oh, this is the reason I came."  
  
Rincewind took some of the armor out of the bag and put it on.  
  
"It's hero armor. See."  
  
He shot a ball of light fantastic into a blank piece of wall.  
  
"Eek!"  
  
"Sorry. Anyway, I was wondering if the university needs-"  
  
"Ook!"  
  
"I thought as much."  
  
Rincewind was going to find the nearest ally and forget this whole thing, Guaranteed. * * *  
  
Zaxton looked out through his periscope stuck through the escape hatch on the top of the tower of art. His lair was ready. Wizards, by instinct, build towers to protect themselves. Magical Implementers, by instinct, commandeer things and places they need and fill them with Magical Implements. Zaxton had several finished, the biggest of which was Pseudosoldier. He looked around the base of the tower. Coming out of the university was some idiot wearing a complete suit of armor minus the helmet, being followed by a suitcase on legs. Zaxton was surprised.  
  
The Luggages were rare, and found only in the Counterweight Continent. Still, it would make an interesting showpiece. He had the sort of chain that would hold it; he would have to wake them up. Around the base of the tower was a group of individuals who seemed to be posing for one another's picture boxes. Coming out about a hundred yards behind the armor idiot was the big ape that Zaxton had learned was the Librarian. He had a bunch of bananas under his arm and one in his hand. Ah, so it was lunchtime! Zaxton picked up his ham sandwich, took a bite, and resumed watching. The halfwit they called the Bursar had now emerged from the university. Zaxton counted the people on the ground. Seven, plus a souvenir. Yes, seven should be and adequate number of hostages to begin with.  
  
"Pseudosoldier- Arm! Prepare for manual control!"  
  
Zaxton took another bite of sandwich and started putting on the control armor.  
  
This would be good.  
  
* * *  
  
"Alright, everyone smile." Eric focused his picture box and pushed the button. "Okay, You can move now.  
  
"Hello, Everyone!" The Bursar and the Librarian walked up. "I'm the Bursar, and this is the Librarian! So, what do you think of our establishment?"  
  
"Oh, I think it's fantastic," gushed Butterfly. "Such wonderful architecture, such glorious knowledge! The future at our fingertips!"  
  
"The world is a better place for it," added Lotus Blossom.  
  
"Is the Tower of Art really the oldest building on the disc?"  
  
"Some think so-" the Bursar was cut of by the Librarian, who was screaming and flapping wildly.  
  
"Oh yes, the Librarian says there is a-"  
  
A blast of sand shot over their heads and hit the Bursar, sending him flying backwards. The librarian jumped on Pseudosoldier, which simply picked his off and threw his about twenty feet into a tree. * * *  
  
Rincewind cursed as he struggled to get the gloves off. Suddenly, he heard screams. Peering around the corner of the Library, his eyes immediately came to rest of the golem, which had just sent the Librarian flying into a tree. Rincewind very quickly leaned back.  
  
Wait a second. . .  
  
Wasn't that Twoflower? And ERIC!? No, it couldn't be. He snuck another peek. It was them! And Twoflower's daughters, Butterfly and Lotus Blossom. And they were being tossed around by a clay man armed with- he looked again- a crossbow, a sandblaster, and a flamethrower. Rincewind subscribed to one school of thought for self-preservation:  
  
Run away.  
  
It was a simple as that, and even then he sometimes had trouble making decisions. He wanted to live, and every friend he had in this world was in serious danger. But, he had a card up his sleeve.  
  
A suit of magic armor he'd actually had time to figure out beforehand. AND it worked in COLOR.  
  
Rincewind put on the helmet, and the crosshairs and numbers came back. He looked at himself: He was dressed in wizard's robes underneath a chest plate. His hat had been folded down under the helmet, and he looked like a complete idiot. Okay.  
  
He crept out from behind the building again. The Librarian was having another go, and the golem's back was turned. Rincewind fired the biggest ball of light fantastic he could call up into the back of the golem. . .  
  
. . .Which had a container of oil strapped to it for flamethrower purposes. There was a terrific explosion, and in that time Rincewind had laser fingered it, blasted it again, mentally conjured up a bomb from an octarine ball and thrown it at the golem, and shot some ropes out of his wrists which wrapped themselves around the golem tightly. The Luggage, which had been standing behind Rincewind and watching with interest, took a flying leap and landed on Pseudosoldier, which snapped without difficulty out of the ropes and tossed it aside. This looked bad. Rincewind wished he could fly, and perhaps smash the golem with an aerial attack. He willed himself to fly. And he did. The boots shot out blasts of octarine that slowly but surely lifted Rincewind off the ground. He rose and rose. Level with the roof of the Tower of Art, he angled down, and-  
  
Was smashed aside, boots flaring, into the base of the Tower of Art. Zaxton grinned. Rincewind got unsurely to his feet. Twoflower, who had been watching the Luggage and the Librarian fight with the golem, turned to him.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"I'm . . . err, . . . I'm- I'm Magic Man!"  
  
"Well, I wish the best of luck, and, err, your boot is on fire."  
  
Rincewind looked down. His left boot was shooting out blasts of octarine and smoking. Suddenly, it gushed a full blast and picked Rincewind up, threw his back down, and sent him skidding, face down, full tilt across the university grounds. He slammed into Pseudosoldier, knocking it over and, gaining speed, lifted off the ground, fell again, lifted, fell. The boot was growing hot. Rincewind's skips were growing longer and higher, and he soared over the university wall. He hit the cobblestones outside and was suddenly airborne over Ankh-Morpork. He hit the ground again so hard the armor threw up sparks, and then he crashed into a row of houses, and crashed through the roof of one, and was now higher than ever, and still accelerating. He was five stories up, and-  
  
Oh gods.  
  
The patrician's palace loomed up from the city like a boulder in a pond. Rincewind swerved, but not in time, and-  
  
There was a noise like a bomb explosion.  
  
* * *  
  
Pseudosoldier struck the Librarian to the ground one last time. It looked up, and Zaxton saw a plume of dust rising up from the Patrician's palace. It cleared quickly, and Zaxton saw a small hole in the side of the building.  
  
"Don't tell me- that idiot couldn't possibly have survived!"  
  
He grinned. The city's last defense had fallen.  
  
Pseudosoldier lowered its crossbow, and, after looking around to make sure no one was watching, led the defeated band into the Tower of Art. Zaxton never noticed the two figures scuttling away. * * *  
  
Well, here's chapter four. And there's plenty more where that came from!  
  
The Shadow 


	5. Assistance is Vital to Sanity

Chapter 5: Revised Version 9-19-02  
  
Disclaimer: Rincewind and Co. are the property of Perry. The quote at the end has been taken from The Light Fantastic, © 1986 Terry Pratchett.  
  
* * *  
  
And there was light. A lot of it was streaming through a rather large hole in the wall above him. Hole. In a wall. He was inside. No, that couldn't be right. Reload  
  
There was no building on the Disc that had that much machinery in it. There were things hissing, things clanking, things sobbing. What the hells?  
  
"Awake now, I see?"  
  
Rincewind screamed. It wasn't that the man who had just bent over him was particularly scary; he was rather short and bald in an odd sort of way. It was that Rincewind had found that screaming eased the tension on his nerves, which was always helpful, as you needed a head start in relaxation against some of the things Rincewind came across.  
  
"Err. Hello." He managed when screaming had no effect. "Who are you?"  
  
"Leonard- Call me Q. You're probably not supposed to know I exist."  
  
"Right. Q, what is going on?"  
  
"Have a look outside."  
  
* * *  
  
Commander Vimes was having a really bad day. He had dealt with golem crimes before. They did not usually end well. The fact that he was now dealing with something out of a Corporal Nobbs nightmare,[1] in which he really COULD carry all the weapons he wanted. The thing knocked down another split level and set fire to a nearby food cart. Okay, so he was reliving the whole dragon episode too. At least it didn't have a Gonne. He turned to the gathered watch. They were all mesmerized and looking at the thing as it torched another building.  
  
"Detritus, would you be so kind as to go-"  
  
"No, sir. You know how heat makes me stupid."  
  
"Right. Dorfl, would you go-"  
  
" 'Clay Of My Clay,' "  
  
"Forget it."  
  
This was not good.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, I really love what you've done with it."  
  
"Really. Sorry, but it was so banged up under the nose I had to cut it off you. Bummer, that. I rather hope they can't set your beard on fire this way."  
  
"Don't worry about it. There are far worse things that could happen. Like my boot."  
  
"Oh, I fixed that."  
  
"Well, I still don't want to face that thing."  
  
"I know. So I brought help. Well, actually it found me. I studied your armor and rebuilt a couple of old suits that I had lying around the place."  
  
Q walked over to a door and rapped on it. "You ready, kids?"  
  
There was sobbing and a "There, there."  
  
"Okay, we're ready. But I'm not sure Butterfly wants to come out."  
  
"I'm okay, But when I think about that THING I want to-" Butterfly broke down sobbing again. The door swung gently open. Eric and Butterfly were on the other side, and both were dressed in armor. Eric's was the black Rincewind had come to know as Octiron, and Butterfly's was some other silvery metal.  
  
"Leadrobium. Blasting lead with a lot of magic can make it. Alchemists thought it up when they accidentally blew up the guildhouse last month. Amazing people, but they still won't buy into my lightning lemons," said Q, reading Rincewind's mind.  
  
"I'm supposed to go out and find that thing, because the Watch will be hiding, disable it, and call it a day, am I?"  
  
"Rincewind, we need to do this. Butterfly and I are going to help," said Eric. 'I've found that there are better things in life than lust, money and immortality, and I'm going to fight for them. You must have something to fight for."  
  
Rincewind thought for a moment, and the timeless words of Cohen the Barbarian. He was dead, but Rincewind remembered, and some things are so timeless you just have the urge to share.  
  
"Hot water, good dentistry, and soft lavatory paper." ----------------------- [1] Not one of Corporal Nobbs's nightmares; a nightmare ABOUT corporal Nobbs. 


	6. There is no Joy for Rincewind

Rewritten 9-22-02  
  
Same Bat Disclaimer, Same Bat Site, Same Bat Author.  
  
* * *  
  
Zaxton was looking at a book. It was called Majikal Implimentes and Howe to Use Them. He turned to page 842:  
  
And thew menny armys whent agenst it, it seemed Hivold had built the strongest of eny Magykal Implimant yet. For none could match the fury of Vic, thew menny tried. It hadde a light weapon which couldde set fyres.  
  
Zaxton patted the device on the table next to him.  
  
This ray weapon is in fygur 10-9. As you can see, it was simple yet dedly, thew this diyagram is incompleat, as the blew prints were never found.  
  
Well, Zaxton had finished them himself. His prototype was finished, and he had tested it. Still, with all the fighting going on down below, no one would notice that he had just blown a hole through the top of the Tower of Art. His device was finished. Now all he needed were some more magical implements to stir up trouble while he went and got the original. Hivold had been smart and buried it. And Zaxton was the possessor of one of two copies of the book. The other was in the library of Unseen University.  
  
* * *  
  
"Where are we? What happened?"  
  
Twoflower sat up, slowly.  
  
"Ook."  
  
"Father, are you all right?"  
  
"Lotus Blossom- is that you?"  
  
"Yes, father," she said.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Inside." This was a third voice, from a figure seated in a corner of the room.  
  
"That you, Mr. Bursar?"  
  
"Maybe. I think we are in a position not favorable for elk."  
  
"Where are we, father?"  
  
"Can't tell. There's a light above us, a grate made of, I'd guess Octiron, a curved stone wall behind, and some rubble and a huge cross-beam to sit on. There's a roof on the cage, and cobbles below. And I think that about covers it."  
  
"Ook."  
  
"No, you can eat your bananas. The Bursar gave me some of his sandwich. Tell me, does he often work with heavy metals?"  
  
* * *  
  
"How did you make suits of magical armor? You need to have all sorts of books and baubles and stuff."  
  
"Well, it's interesting. I'm reading this book I got out of Unseen. It talks about magical implements through the ages. He held up an ancient tome the lettering on which was faded.  
  
"This book shows some of the great magical implements of all time, dating back ever before Tacticus."  
  
In the ruined city that is Rincewind's mind, a boulder suddenly shifted, revealing a piece of information. And then it all clicked, piece-by-piece, into place.  
  
"May I see that article? The one that talks about this armor." Click.  
  
"Certainly." Q flipped to a page towards the back of the book. It showed a sketchy diagram of a suit of armor exactly like Rincewind's. Click.  
  
"'This armer was the onlee thyng that Vic cudde nottee stoppe.' Who's Vic?"  
  
"Oh, very interesting. I plan to build a copy of that soon too. Not who," said Q, "But what." On the page he had flipped to, there was a tower. Well, sort of. It had huge wheels on the bottom, and the walls appeared to be made of metal. On the side of the page were smaller pictures of mounted crossbows and flamethrowers, apparently some of the weapons Vic had. Click, click, and click. He looked out the window. As if on cue, a bright blue line of electroctarine shot through the roof of the Tower of Art from the inside. He knew he was going to regret asking the next question. * * *  
  
Zaxton was looking through his assorted weapons for something that looked dangerous. He came up with a pair of morning stars welded together at the bases of the handles. A good start. He took his primer sheets and fed it into a metal box on a table. When nothing happened, he rapped on the box a few times till the imp woke up and began to copy the paper. A duplicate came out the side, followed by the original. He pushed this last back in and told the box to make twenty more.  
  
He took his copy and threw it into a large metal chest. He picked up the morning star and threw it in with it. He picked up a large metal cylinder and put on a gas mask. This would be tricky. The cylinder was, like the box, made of depolarized Octiron, which could keep high magic at bay, well, not as well as leadrobium, but that had been invented only recently and was too expensive anyway. The gas mask was completely worthless, because the gas he would be working anyway affected anything it touched, and he knew it. But old habits die hard. For Zaxton had in his possession a large amount of the horribly potent octogen, a substance valued in magical science and warfare. Magical implementing hinged on its existence.  
  
Raw octogen was untamed and dangerous. But someone, somewhen, had realized that this, when sealed up with an inanimate object and a spell, make the object do when the spell said. A magical implement took about ten minutes to make- the amount of time that it took for the object to absorb the octogen. That was it.  
  
By now the morning star was done. Zaxton opened the box, stepped back, and watched the object sail out one of the windows of the Tower of Art. Right. A sapient sandstorm was in order right about now.  
  
* * *  
  
This is the disc of- you know all that. But watch it spiral around slowly underneath you, and focus on the Hub. You can hear the ice giants and the gods arguing, if you can really strain to hear over that music. What? No, what did you say? NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY!? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THE DAMN MUSIC'S TOO LOUD!!  
  
Ahem.  
  
They are still at it. And now, look a few thousand miles to the south, where the octarine grass grows. Hubwards and Widdershins of Ankh-Morpork lies the forgotten city of Hivold. Its only mention in any book is of course in a very old and select book on magical implements. And here is Zaxton. He shot over the Sto plains on the remnants of a flying carpet. It was now thread bare enough and had acquired enough holes to apply for the title of flying rag. But it wouldn't have to fly much farther. It flopped listlessly to the ground in the main street of what had been the greatest menace to Ankh-Morpork ever.  
  
* * *  
  
"Heave!"  
  
"Ook!"  
  
"Heave!"  
  
"Ook."  
  
It was no use. The giant collapsed support beam too heavy for Zaxton to move out of the cell when he built it was certainly big enough, but, with the available humanoid power, the only thing they could do was drop it.  
  
"Father, will we ever escape?"  
  
"Do not worry." Twoflower smiled, and the lines around his four eyes crinkled. He realized that for the moment, keeping everyone happy would be best until Rincewind came. He could wait.  
  
* * *  
  
Zaxton wandered through the streets and ally ways of an almost completely razed section of the city. The barracks should have been around here somewhere. Ah! He rushed over to a building which was complete in the sense that none of the pieces were missing, and began to dig through what had once been a wall three stories up. Yes! There was the lead plate, and there was-  
  
The inscription had been mostly eroded by the wind, but Zaxton knew what it was. He stepped back out of the rubble and pulled the book out of his robes. Ahem.  
  
"Engage!"  
  
Somewhere below Zaxton, a long patient audio receiver picked up the word. And a gear slid down an axle that still had some oil on it and woke up its companions.  
  
"Rage of the machine, hear me, for I am you master: I am Windward Zaxton, Last of the magical- okay, not last, but our numbers are dwindling, and besides- I am The one who has spoken you name, you are mine to command!  
  
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky[1]  
  
And underground, the bane of the Discworld awoke.  
  
  
  
  
  
----------------------- [1] Yes, I know Blind Io was currently being deafened by the music of the Ice Giants, but all gods have a sixth sense that tells them when is a good time to show off. Who says gods can't multitask. I SAID, WHO SAYS GODS CAN'T MULTITASK! NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE MUSIC AND THE LAUGHTER OF THE READERS! 


	7. Kicksides

Here we go. I rewrote chapters 5&6, and have now finished the seventh chapter. Please read it, it took a long time to write!  
  
* * *  
  
"Okay. Now, I have one more touch to add, if I may."  
  
Q scuttled off into an antechamber and emerged with three buckets of paint.  
  
"What are you doing?" asked Rincewind.  
  
"You call yourself Magic Man, right?"  
  
"Well. Look, I am NOT the Great Wizard, understand!"  
  
"No, no, I mean, that is you saving the world title, is it not?"  
  
"Well. I suppose."  
  
"Good." Q pried the top of one of the paint cans with a piece of metal on the floor, pulled a paintbrush out of his pocket, and began to slap octarine paint onto the chest plate.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
'Trying out my fast drying paint. Yes, it works! Come have a look at yourself!"  
  
Rincewind was pointed at a mirror. It showed a man cloaked in a set of armor that had a large octagon painted on its chest, and inside that octagon two capital letter M's.  
  
"Wonderful, isn't it? Now for you two."  
  
Q popped the top off the black paint and in about thirty seconds Butterfly was looking at herself in the mirror and trying to puzzle out the paisley shape on her chest. It was Eric who figured it out first.  
  
"It's half of the Agatean symbol for peace, um, what's it called."  
  
"Ling-Lang," said Butterfly. "Yes, you're absolutely right." She looked again at the black symbol on her white armor. "This half is Power, and your half is-  
  
"Cowardice. Together they equal peace." This was Rincewind.  
  
"I am not a coward!"  
  
"No, you are not. Someday I may forgive you. But Butterfly is considerably more headstrong than you are. Besides, that kind of armor will strengthen your magical abilities. I know you have some. Try turning that piece of metal there into a dove."  
  
Rincewind held up the fragment of metal Q had used to open the paint cans. Two seconds later, Rincewind was holding a fresh lemon. Q slapped some white paint onto Eric's armor.  
  
"Right. You three are now suitable for saving the world. Rincewind, you are now a super-hero, and Ms. Butterfly, Mr. Eric- you two can be his kick- sides."  
  
"Kick-sides?"  
  
"The people who stand next to the hero and kick everyone who is not coming at the hero head on. You can leave through this hole you made. You should all be able to fly."  
  
They shot out the hole and into the city. A few moments later, a man entered the room.  
  
"You think it'll work?" asked Leonard of Quirm  
  
"I do hope so. And now I must see how the Watch is getting along," replied Lord Vetinari.  
  
* * *  
  
Rincewind was having a really bad day. He had been dragged, quite literally, through hell and back, by Eric, and lived. Then, he had been proclaimed all over the Counterweight Continent as The Great Wizard. He had survived that, too. But now they had banded forces, he suspected they were in love, or at least Eric was in love with Butterfly, and some madman chose THIS as a good time to attack the city? Rincewind wanted to kill him, then realized that this was probably his adversary's plan as well. He gulped.  
  
"Oh, come on, could you put me down?" he pleaded. Eric and Butterfly exchanged contemplative glances.  
  
"Promise not to try and run off again?" asked Butterfly.  
  
"Yes." Said Rincewind miserably.  
  
"Okay," said Eric.  
  
They each dropped one end of the stick that Rincewind was tied to, and he flopped on his face into the ashes that had precipitated from at least a hundred burning buildings. He hadn't seen a fire this big-not counting Hell- since when Twoflower had in-sewered the Broken, now Mended, soon to be Scorched-Drum. Rincewind coughed and rolled onto his back. Above him the midday sky was completely obscured by the smoke of really greasy combustibles combusting. And explosion rumbled in the distance.  
  
Out in the Octarine grasslands, a storm was gathering both overhead and underground. A machine predating the unification of Ankh-Morpork was flashing piece by piece into life. Zaxton, standing as close as he though wise, was nearly hit when a wall of an adjacent building toppled over. Elsewhere in the dead city the few remaining buildings were toppling to the ground without grace or pride.  
  
Someone had done a number on this city years ago.  
  
There was a metallic groan from under the ground. And then it surfaced. Vic, ageless and angry rose out of the rubble, indistinct in the twilight of the storm. It was some sort of tower, that much was sure, for its shape could be seen against the flashing lightning that extended all the way out from the hub in an odd curl.  
  
That number was eight.  
  
* * *  
  
R & R! 


	8. More Trouble Brewing

Okay. I'm betting most of you left this story for dead towards the end of last summer. So did I. But it's back. Here we go again.  
  
* * *  
  
"Detritus use the piecemaker!" The troll fired against a whirling mace, which went up in a fireball. "Lovely job there, just 200 more to go." Vimes and squad sat in the wreckage of what had been a brick factory, a last ditch entrenchment before they abandoned the city completely. Sto Lat was looking pretty good right now.  
  
"Are you sure we shouldn't just turn around and run, sir?" That was Nobby, who was hucking bricks and pocketing nearly everything else.  
  
"Are you going to abandon your city?" and find out all the bridges are out, wondered Vimes with a growing level of panic. This was bad. The brick factory wouldn't burn, but these implements were pounding it to rubble. He was going to need some sort of backup plan. That was looking really, really bad.  
  
* * *  
  
Zaxton stood in the shadow of Vic. It was a moving tower fifty feet high and completely covered in black lead panels. On the front was one extremely large panel, which stood out from the others. It read VIC, in huge letters. But these slowly faded, and were replaced with: YOUR BIDDING?  
  
"I want you to destroy Ankh-Morpork."  
  
YES  
  
"But first, is there a way into you? I want a good seat for the show."  
  
BUT OF COURSE  
  
* * *  
  
"Take that!" Butterfly grabbed a battle-axe out of the air and broke it over her knee. Eric grabbed another battle-axe and turned it into a jam jar. This was progress. Rincewind was jumping up and down on an enchanted saucepan. He was winning. It helped that his boot kept flaring and scorching the pan. The problem was whatever temporary solution Q had installed, it was failing again. He was probably going to rocket off into the stratosphere soon, and then he'd be in real trouble. But the immediate problem was the saucepan. Step at a time.  
  
* * *  
  
Zaxton opened the door on the side of Vic and lit his lantern. And gasped. There were gears. Tens upon hundreds of gears, riding on axles, turning winches, pulling ropes. Occasionally, on would fall off the end of its axel and be caught by another one on the way down. There was a platform directly in front of him. He stepped onto it, and was carried up as gears seemed to jump out of nowhere and lift him up, up, up, and then he was-  
  
-In a cramped but tastefully arranged office with a plate glass window looking out on the ruined city. In the middle of the room was the platform he had come up on, and around the walls was a wraparound desk with a chair that rolled along a groove in the floor. He seated himself in this, and found it surprisingly comfortable. On the desk was a small lead plate, a miniature of the on he had seen on the outside of Vic. He spoke to this.  
  
"Okay. You may now leave for Ankh-Morpork."  
  
YES. PLEASE LEAN BACK.  
  
What?  
  
WE WILL BE THERE IN SIX MINUTES  
  
"That's impossible-"  
  
And there was a rumbling from below, and a flame shot out of the bottom of Vic. It slowly, then more rapidly lifted off of the ground, then tipped into the wind and shot Rimwards toward destiny.  
  
* * * 


End file.
